Monster High

by Lisi Harrison

  “How was the dance?” Glory called from the living room. She lifted her teacup off the side table and walked into the kitchen.

  “It was good,” Melody said, following her. “Do we have a flashlight?”

  Glory shook her head. “We’re using lanterns now. They’re in the garage in the plastic bin marked OUTDOOR LIGHTING. Candles should be in there too. Why?”

  “I wanted to go for a little walk. The dance was stuffy, and it’s so hot in here.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” Glory rolled her aqua-blue eyes. “The monsters are loose.” She placed her cup in the sink. “Can you believe it? It was all over the news.” She snickered. “You gotta love small-town living. They don’t know real monsters until they’ve visited our old neighborhood. Am I right?”

  “Totally,” Melody said anxiously. “Okay, good night. I won’t be late.”

  Glory blew her daughter a kiss and then headed for her bedroom.

  Melody hurried for the door. Eager to start her search, she pulled it open and bashed right into Bekka. “Oh my god, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? How’s Brett?”

  Did she sound as guilty as she felt?

  “He’s stable. But he had a hysterical breakdown and can’t speak.”

  Melody pulled Bekka in for a hug. Bekka allowed it, but she didn’t hug back. “You must be so worried.”

  “I am,” Bekka said. “So, um, why aren’t you out looking for the monster?”

  “I was actually just on my way out,” she said, proud of her non-lie.

  “Good,” Bekka said, without the slightest sign of relief. “Here.” She handed Melody her khaki backpack. “You left this in my dad’s car.”

  “Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to bring it by tonight.” Melody cringed at the unnaturally high pitch of her guilt-laced voice.

  “You know my rule.” Bekka smirked. “Friends first.”

  “Yup, friends first,” Melody repeated.

  “Friends first.” Bekka smirked again.

  Something had changed. It was more than the shock of seeing her boyfriend allegedly kiss a monster. More than Melody’s guilt for not chasing a special effect. The different thing wasn’t in the air. It was behind Bekka’s green eyes.

  “You also left this in the car.” Bekka handed Melody her iPhone. But when Melody reached for it, Bekka pulled it back and double-tapped the screen. “Look what I stumbled upon.”

  The video of Jackson turning into D.J. Hyde began to play.

  “D.J.… D.J. Hyde. As in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Just like my great-grandfather… who was super-freaky, by the way. I found some papers in our attic, and it looks like he did all these weird experiments with tonics back in the day—experiments on himself! After he drank these potions, he turned into quite a wild man. I’m not into drinking, but I do like a good dance party.… Got any music?”

  Melody’s stomach lurched. Her mouth went dry. Her breathing was labored.

  “You snooped?” she managed. It was all she could think of to say.

  “No, Haylee did. She questioned your loyalty.”

  Why didn’t I think to erase that? Melody could feel her heart beat in her brain as she thought of how Bekka’s discovery would affect Jackson and his mother. Bekka was no longer the friend who tipped her off to Brett’s scary pranks or brought her inhaler just in case. She was the enemy with a monstrous upper hand.

  “Give it back,” Melody insisted.

  “As soon as I e-mail the video to myself.” Bekka tapped the screen and waited for the confirmation.

  Boop.

  “Here you go.” She smacked the iPhone down in Melody’s icy palm.

  “That video was a joke,” Melody tried. “We were making a movie. Like Brett’s!”

  “Lies!” Bekka snapped her fingers. Haylee appeared from the side of the porch. The dutiful helper opened her green attaché and pulled out Melody’s signed contract. The one that said she would never flirt with Brett Redding, hook up with Brett Redding, or fail to pummel any girl who does hook up with Brett Redding. She tore it to confetti and then scattered it all over the DID YOU REMEMBER TO WIPE? doormat.

  It hurt much more than Melody had ever expected it would. In spite of all their quirks, she really liked Bekka and Haylee. They were her first real friends.

  “Bekka, I am so—”

  Haylee presented another document.

  “Silence, monster sympathizer,” she snapped. “You obviously hang with that crowd, so you obviously know where she is.”

  “Bekka, I don’t, I swear,” Melody pleaded. “I don’t even believe this monster girl is real.”

  “I know what I saw.” Bekka took the document from Haylee and handed it to Melody. “You have forty-eight hours to find her. Failure to do so will lead to a video leak of Paris Hilton proportions.”

  Haylee handed her the silver-and-red ballpoint.

  “I’m not signing this.” Melody stepped back.

  “Then I’ll leak it now. It’s your choice.”

  Melody grabbed the pen and scribbled her name at the bottom.

  “Date it,” Haylee insisted.

  This time, Melody pressed so hard she punctured the page.

  Haylee pulled a yellow egg timer from her case and turned the dial all the way to one hour.

  Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

  “Forty-seven more turns and we’re coming for you,” Bekka said.

  Haylee lifted her case, and the girls stomped down the steps toward Mr. Madden’s Cadillac.

  Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…

  They pulled away, leaving Melody with an unobstructed view of Jackson’s cottage. The cheery facade looked back at her with the warmth of a trusting puppy—a puppy she was about to put to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SHOCK IT TO ME

  Frankie had taken the stand. She had been sworn in. It was time to testify.

  So what if it was sweltering hot? So what if her makeup was melting and her green skin was exposed? So what if her seams were achingly tight? None of that mattered. Clearing her name in front of the RADs and the normies who were packed inside the courtroom was all that mattered.

  She would apologize to her parents for betraying their trust. For putting them in bad standing with the RADs and for not heeding their warnings. She would tell Lala, Blue, Clawdine, and Cleo how much their friendship meant to her and that she never intended to put them in jeopardy. She would tell Ms. J how much she appreciated her guidance. Apologies would go to Brett for losing her head and to Bekka for making out with her boyfriend. She would thank Billy for rescuing her and Claude for driving her home. She would tell them she didn’t deserve a second chance. But if they gave her one, she would never let them down again. Then she would make one final appeal to the normies, begging them to stop fearing RADs; to let her father share his brilliance openly with the world; to appreciate her friends’ unique fashion flair and hair growth; to allow them to come out of the casket and live freely…

  But when the time came to speak, no words came out. She gnashed her teeth, sparked, and moaned like a zombie. Each attempt to explain herself became louder and louder. Women and children began wailing. Men jumped up on the benches and began stomping their feet to scare her away. But it didn’t work. Mounting frustration made her moan louder, gnash harder, and spark brighter.

  Finally an angry mob rushed the stand and began tearing her limb from limb. Green body parts were being tossed like salad. The pain was so unbearable, she let out a glass-shattering wail and…

  “Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  “Wake up! Wake up!” Someone shook her.

  “Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  “It’s okay, it’s just a dream, wake up!”

  Frankie blinked and slowly opened her eyes. The room was dark and still. “How much?” she managed despite her dry throat.

  “How much what?” asked a boy.

  “How much… was a dream?” S
he lowered her eyes. Ew, am I really wearing a hospital gown?

  “All of it.”

  Frankie shot up, ignoring the dizzying rush. “It was?”

  “Yeah, Firecracker,” he whispered tenderly. “It was.”

  “D.J.?” Frankie wiped the sweat from her forehead. It was hot under those electromagnetic blankets. “Are any of my friends here? How long have I been sleeping?” She searched the room for clues. Nothing was as she remembered. Her lounge was gone. The makeup brushes and lip glosses had been removed from the beakers. And the Glitterati had been stripped of their glitter. “Where’s all my stuff? What are you doing here?”

  “Whoa, one thing at a time,” he said. “First, you’ve been sleeping for nine hours. Second, your friends are not here. They aren’t allowed out of their houses. Maybe they called, but your dad confiscated your phone. Third, your parents boxed up your stuff because—and these are their words, not mine—they have been spoiling you for too long and all that’s about to change. And fourth, I scored a ride with Billy and Claude after that lame dance. When they dropped you off, I kind of stayed and hid and—”

  “Wait! The dance happened?” Frankie’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought you said it was all a dream.”

  “Not that part.” He chuckled. “Man, when those guys told me what you did to that normie, I almost peed my Jockeys.” He ran a hand through his floppy bangs. They were damp with sweat.

  “Ugh!” Frankie lay back down. Instinctively she reached for her neck seams, but they were under a thick layer of gauze. “What am I going to do?”

  “About what?” D.J. stroked her hair. She sparked a little. He snickered with delight.

  “About what?” she sat up. “About ruining everyone’s life!”

  D.J. met her glare with smiling hazel eyes. “You didn’t ruin lives. You jump-started them.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true!” D.J. tapped the screen of his iPhone. “You’re the only one with any spark around here.” The song “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon began playing. Like a dog with its head out the car window on a sunny day, D.J. closed his eyes during the sweeping guitar opening, and warmed up with a little air guitar. Once the lyrics began, he took Frankie’s hand and helped her off the table. Then he pulled her toward him, pressed his cheek against hers, and danced her around the sterile, unstylish, un-Fab room.

  “I’ve been running around…”

  She thought of Lala and wondered how serious her D.J. crush really was. “What are you doing?” She giggled nervously.

  “Trying to make you forget about Brett,” he whispered in her ear.

  She sparked.

  He smiled.

  They swayed past the shelf of empty beakers. The glass tubes seemed lonely without Frankie’s colorful products filling them with purpose. She had hurt them too.

  “You know that I could use somebody, someone like you…”

  “I’m such an idiot!” Frankie cried. “I thought, ‘Oh, he’s into monsters, so he’ll definitely like me.’” She scoffed at her own ignorance. “I didn’t know anything about him. I just wanted to be with someone who didn’t want me to hide.”

  “You are now.”

  Frankie pulled away from his cheek and searched his eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because I like you, Firecracker. I like that you’re not afraid to go for it.”

  “Go for what?” Frankie wiggled her hand free and stepped back. She wanted to see all of him.

  “For the things you want.”

  Frankie touched the back of her hospital gown to make sure it was still fastened shut. “Yeah, well the things I want, I can’t have.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like freedom.”

  “You can if I help you.” He took a small step toward her.

  “Why do you want to help me?”

  “Because you make me want to write songs.” He touched her bolt. It zapped his finger. “How cute is that shock thing you do?”

  She giggled. “Pretty cute.”

  “Frankie?” Viktor whisper-called from the hallway.

  “Ye—”

  D.J. quickly covered her mouth and turned off the music. “Pretend you’re asleep. I’ll hide.”

  Frankie hurried for her bed.

  Her bedroom door creaked open. “You awake?”

  She held perfectly still.

  “It’s a sauna in here,” Viktor mumbled to himself. Seconds later a whoosh of air shot through the vents.

  I love you, Daddy, Frankie thought, even if you don’t love me.

  They remained silent and still for the next five minutes, just to be safe. But the anticipation of seeing D.J. again made Frankie twitch. He was like a gift she hadn’t opened yet. She wanted to learn more about him. Share her dreams for change. Hear his. Listen to his music. And spark.

  “It’s safe,” she whispered into the darkness. “You can come out now.”

  Nothing.

  “D.J., come out!” she tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Frankie slid off her bed and crept toward his hiding spot under the microscope table. “You can come out.”

  He emerged slowly, scratching his head in confusion.

  “Where did you get those glasses?” Frankie giggled.

  “LensCrafters,” he mumbled groggily.

  Did you accidentally sniff formaldehyde? Frankie offered her hand. “Need help?”

  “Oh, man,” he said once they were face-to-face. “You’re that green monster girl from the dance, aren’t you?”

  Frankie gripped her stomach as if she’d just been punched. “What?”

  “What am I doing here?” He looked around at the glistening surgical instruments. “Did I say anything I’m going to regret? Am I your prisoner or something?”

  “Are you serious?” Frankie cried. This was the cruelest joke imaginable. “No, you’re not my prisoner. Feel free to leave whenever you want.” She pointed at the frosted window where her lounge used to be.

  “Thanks.” He hurried toward it.

  “You’re seriously leaving?” Frankie gasped, desperately wishing for five minutes ago. “I thought you liked me.”

  He stopped and turned. “Do you know a girl named Melody Carver?”

  Frankie shook her head, even though she kind of did. “Is this some kind of cruel payback for tonight?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing through the open window.

  “Then don’t go,” she begged as the room began to flood with loneliness.

  “I have to. I’m really sorry,” he said. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Stay,” Frankie begged as he took off running. “Stay,” she tried again, even though it was too late.

  He was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A HOT MESS

  Pacing across her porch, Melody thought of those windup dogs she’d seen on display on tables in the mall. They’d yap, walk, sit, turn, and walk some more. Then they would bash into the side rail and fall on their hind legs. With a mini hop they’d return to all fours, ready to yap, walk, sit, and turn all over again. Like her, they moved but never got anywhere.

  Where was she supposed to go? Should she waste her time tracking a fictitious monster? Figure out how to get that video off Bekka’s iPhone? Bribe Haylee? Confide in Candace? Search for Jackson? Move back to Beverly Hills? She was ready for action. She just didn’t know which action to take.

  Sneakers slapping on pavement caught her attention. A slim figure was running up the street toward her.

  “Melody!” he called.

  “Jackson?”

  She raced for him, propelled by the strength of a thousand regrets.

  “I’m so sorry!” She threw her arms around him, right there in the middle of Radcliffe Way. “I never should have let you leave without me. I was confused. I had to make a choice. And I chose you. I did. I mean, I have. But now…”

  Melody released her grip. His hair smelled like sweat and amm
onia. “Where have you been?”

  “Jackson!” Ms. J ran from the cottage in her robe. “Thank heaven you’re okay.”

  Melody peered down the dark street, no longer capable of facing Ms. J. In just forty-seven hours, her son would be exposed as a “monster,” and it would be Melody’s fault. So much for her word; it had a shorter shelf life than sashimi.

  “Hey, Mom.” Jackson hugged her. “I’m fine.”

  “Thank you!” She grabbed Melody’s face between her hands and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for finding him.”

  Melody forced a smile and then lowered her eyes.

  “Come inside.” Ms. J tugged her son’s arm. “Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be wandering around tonight?”

  “Mom, I’m hanging out with Melody. I’m not wandering around.”

  “At least get out of the road,” she said.

  Jackson promised he would be home soon. Then he took Melody’s hand and walked her home.

  “When did you and my mother become such good friends?” he asked.

  Melody responded with a distant smile. “Maybe you should, you know, go home,” she said as they climbed the porch steps.

  “Why?” Jackson knit his brows. “Who’s the split personality here, me or you?”

  “Huh?”

  “What happened to ‘I chose you’ and ‘I shouldn’t have let you leave’?” He sat on the swing and began rocking playfully.

  “Jackson.” She gently pushed the back of the swing. “There’s a lot going on that I can’t tell you about and—”

  “Oh, and it’s worse than everything you know about me?”

  He had a point.

  The wind, still blowing in starts and stops, rustled the leaves and then drew them back into silence. It sounded as if they were trying to explain but didn’t know how. Melody understood their frustration.

  “Something really terrible happened, and it’s my fault.”

  He stared across the street and sighed. “Deuce.”

  “No!” she snapped, slightly offended.

  His shoulders relaxed.

  “What is it, then?”